Friday It's God Thank
and I don’t just sleep,
I had to get me some sleep,
had to want to sleep,
flop on the bed,
undress, park the car,
drive the ten miles or so,
without her,
leave the bar, tell myself enough’s enough,
not one more Johnny Walker,
okay the one before,
and please, no woman that only
a blind and deaf mute could love,
except for the one I’m sitting next to,
should I take the stool beside that one,
no I’m not lonely now,
I’m lonely as all hell,
and I’ve got better things to do
but this is the best that I can do,
and the night is short,
it’s a long night ahead,
I feel better already,
I’m beat,
glad to be out of there,
glad that it’s five o’clock,
is it five o’clock yet,
it’s Friday at last,
not sorry to see the last of him until Monday,
wish it was Friday
ugly, sourpuss of a boss,
damn, the way this is going
it’ll soon be last Monday
John Grey: Australian born poet, US resident since late seventies. Works as
financial systems analyst. Recently published in Slant, Briar Cliff Review and Albatross with work upcoming in Poetry East, Cape Rock and REAL.